Rainbow Sherbet
by fulfilled
Summary: Ice cream and minor surgery, set in the not too distant future. RL fluff.


**A/N: **Just because I was in a very, very fluffy mood the other night. And I was eating rainbow sherbet. It's hot out—enjoy some ice cream to beat the heat!

* * *

"Rainbow sherbet?" Rory asked skeptically, raising one eyebrow at him.

"Yup," Logan confirmed with a grin, stretching an arm out on behind her on the back of the couch. "Rainbow sherbet."

"Not ice cream, or gelato, or Italian ice, or… I don't know," she floundered, "frozen yogurt? Haagen Dazs? Ben and Jerry's? Something gourmet and fancy? Something with big chunks of chocolate in it? Something with a foreign-sounding name?"

"Sherbet," he repeated, playing with a lock of her hair.

She giggled and leaned into him, her head resting in the hollow of his shoulder, her feet tangled with his on the coffee table. "You do realize they're going to freak when they hear this, don't you?"

"But isn't that half the fun?" he responded, nudging at her foot with one of his, poking his big toe into the hole in her sock.

"Rainbow sherbet," she mused, and he could feel her smile into his chest as he tightened an arm around her, pulling her in closer, kissing the top of her head.

A burst of laughter from the TV caught their attention and they both turned to watch, distracted, following the inane comedy for a few minutes, until she pulled back, tipping her head so that she could see his face.

"Why rainbow sherbet?" she asked, grabbing the remote and hitting the mute button.

"Well," he began, twisting a little bit so that he was facing her, "when I was little, I got my tonsils taken out, and… you know how they tell you that you'll be able to eat all the ice cream you want?"

Rory nodded, sitting up and leaning sideways against the back of the couch.

"I was seven when I got mine taken out," Logan said, "and I got a really bad infection that kept me in the hospital for two weeks. At first, I couldn't even eat the ice cream, and I was heartbroken—that was the only thing that I thought was going to be okay about the whole experience. And then, when the doctors would let me, I couldn't keep the ice cream down. Which really sucked, because it hurt, throwing it back up—I mean, I'd just had an operation on my throat, and here I was, forcing acidic bile back up? Not fun."

Rory giggled, reaching up to pat his cheek. "Awww, poor baby," she teased.

"Hey!" Logan protested, catching her hand in his and holding her captive, even as she squirmed to get away. "It hurt! And I didn't get my ice cream!"

"Again," she repeated, the end of the word turning into a yelp as he tightened his grip on her fingers, "poor baby." She dissolved into giggles, trying to bat away his other hand with her free one, twisting her body to avoid being further caught, but he captured her anyway, pinning her body with her back against his chest, holding her fast with both arms tightly around her.

"Are you going to let me finish my story?" Logan asked into her ear.

"Yes," Rory answered innocently, batting her eyes, even though she knew he couldn't see them.

"Without mocking?" he clarified, holding her even tighter so his hands wrapped all the way around her front, tickling her ribs.

"Yes!" Rory gasped, trying to catch her breath.

"Okay," Logan gave in, loosening his hold slightly. "Where was I?"

"Acidic bile," Rory reminded him, choking on the last word as she held in her laughter.

"Right, acidic bile. So, I couldn't have ice cream. Something about the dairy."

"But you're not lactose intolerant," Rory interrupted.

Logan shot her a faux-stern look. "Or interrupting," he said, out of the blue.

"What?"

"No mocking," he began.

"I know! I wasn't mocking!" Rory retorted.

"Or," he cut off the end of her last word, "interrupting. No mocking or interrupting. Let me tell my story."

"Fine," she huffed, wresting one of her hands out of his grasp to lock her lips with a pretend key and crossing her arms over her chest.

"The dairy did weird things with the medication they had me on, so I couldn't eat the ice cream," Logan began again, shifting into the corner of the couch so he had a better grip on Rory. "I had to eat freezies and popsicles, and that was it. No ice cream. Even though they promised that I could have all the ice cream I wanted."

He looked at Rory sideways, trying to gauge whether she was going to try and interrupt again, but she widened her eyes innocently, giving him a 'who, me?' look with her lips still pressed tightly together. He was turning his head away when he caught her sticking out her tongue at him out of the corner of his eye, and his own eyes widened in mock horror as he wrapped an arm around her, clapping his hand over his mouth.

She giggled into his palm, darting her tongue out to lick him, a wet, slobbery trail down his hand, and he pulled away in surprise. "Rory!" Logan groaned, wiping his hand on his pant leg. "That's disgusting."

"Mmmm, mmm mmmmm, mmm," she mumbled, eyes sparkling, with her lips still shut.

"Right," he drawled, drawing the word out. "I really believe you."

"Mmmmm mmmmm!" she protested, still giggling through her attempts to communicate.

"So anyway," he continued, ignoring her frantic gestures to let her speak, settling back in and pulling her against his chest again, "when I got home a week later, the nanny let me eat all the ice cream I couldn't eat in the hospital."

"But—" Rory began, forgetting not to talk.

"Uh uh," Logan cut her off, pinching her lips together with his fingers. "No interrupting, remember? You're not so good at following instructions, you know."

Rory sighed, crossing her arms again and letting herself fall heavily back on his chest with a playful pout, knocking the wind out of him as she landed.

"Hey!" he protested, the word escaping him in a rush of air. "Play nice!"

Rory just shrugged against his chest, settling herself in with a few well-placed elbows in the midst of her squirms.

Logan continued his story through her 'repositioning,' ignoring her as best he could. "I got to eat all the ice cream, even though my throat was healed and I didn't really need it any more, but I was going through a 'phase,' and all I would eat was rainbow sherbet. That's it. They had to stock up on pails and pails of it, because I milked that sympathy for all it was worth. I ate nothing but rainbow sherbet for three weeks, and I got so sick of it that I haven't touched it since."

He leaned back, a satisfied look on his face, waiting expectantly. "Well?" he finally asked.

"Can I talk now?" Rory stage-whispered. Logan nodded, stretching out his legs in front of himself again and gesturing magnanimously with his hands for her to go ahead. "_That's_ why you want rainbow sherbet at our wedding reception?" she asked, straddling his lap and raising an eyebrow at him. "Because you got sick of it when you were a kid?"

"Um hmm," he agreed smugly.

"Seriously," she said dryly, leaning back so she was sitting on his knees. "That's why?"

"It's a good reason," he defended, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her in so her chin crashed into his shoulder, and they both giggled. "Don't you think?"

"I think you're a glutton for punishment," Rory said. "That story had no point! There's no sentimentality behind it—it's just random. It doesn't mean anything. No one's going to buy that you just_ had _to try rainbow sherbet for the first time in 17 years at our wedding."

"Ohhhhh," Logan said, rolling her off him and scooting to the other end of the couch. "So now my childhood memories are pointless and random? Meaningless?"

Rory laughed, lying down with her head at the opposite end of the couch from where he was sitting. "Yup," she confirmed, sticking her feet in his lap and wiggling her toes. "Massage?" she asked, nudging his belly with her foot.

Logan picked up her left foot and began massaging it, his strong fingers kneading circles into the sole. "Would it be any better if I told you that I just want to see the reactions on Emily's and my mother's faces when we tell them that we're planning to have rainbow sherbet at the reception, instead of a fancy gourmet dessert or a designer cake?"

Rory laughed out loud, pushing herself up into a sitting position. "Now that," she said, kissing him lightly on the lips, "is why I love you." His hands left her foot and snaked up around her back, pulling her close. "Uh-uh," she shook her head, grabbing his hands and guiding them back to her feet. "Keep massaging."

"Oh?" he asked. "And what do I get for this?"

Rory smirked. "How about the look on their faces when we tell them that we're serving that sherbet in cones?"

Logan laughed, resuming his massage. "I knew there was a reason I'm marrying you," he said, swinging his own legs up so that they ran along her body, tucking his feet up under her torso, as he reached for the remote and turned the movie back on.


End file.
